


the noise of stars

by depugnare



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, Post-Finale, Trueform Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:23:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/depugnare/pseuds/depugnare
Summary: All things must come to an end. This is what was written and so it shall be.It happens more than once.Over and over, Castiel must reckon with mortality. With God. With the fragility of human life. With the way Dean looks lying dead on the ground, blood spilled for some meaningless cause. The eternal fate of a Righteous Man. Over and over again Sam pleads and begs for a new start. For peace. Castiel cannot give it to him.He has had enough.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 30
Kudos: 422





	the noise of stars

Castiel was born not long after light.

After all, to be a wave of celestial intent there had to be the celestial sphere to begin with.

There was no before. There was light. Then there was Castiel.

He thinks of this as he falls, light becoming flesh, intent becoming bone.

What will he be after? He does not have much reference. Only two brothers, frighteningly mortal in the midst of all this.

Only Dean Winchester, whose body he made anew with grace. A righteous being that had still shown like the sun in hell.

Castiel closes his eyes and waits to feel the excruciating sensation of being alive.

  
  
  


**-**

He did not expect to be picked for this task. Soldiers do not go into hell to fetch something so important as Michael’s sword. Soldiers have not earned the honor of touching such a vessel.

He has been chosen to do this, all his siblings gathered around to bestow grace, their many faces bright like the sun.

It is this he thinks of as he descends into hell, the very place a horrid collection of misery that chases out the faintest bit of light. It is a grasping darkness, clinging to his wings even as he glides ever deeper through the gloom before he reaches the point where he is supposed to be.

Dean Winchester is made of light. 

Here between the grasping hands of shadow he moves like a thought between synapses, furiously alive despite the darkness. He snarls when he sees Castiel, raising a hand to strike him down, but Castiel simply cups his face and holds him.

“Quiet,” he commands, voice leaving no room for dissent. “You have been chosen, Dean Winchester.” 

The creature that looks back at him with nothing but hatred, pure anger across its face. He isn’t human yet, and the touch of Castiel’s grace must feel like knives across his soul. Castiel ruffles his wings, a soothing gesture for angels, and wraps them around Dean. He stills, wide black eyes staring at Castiel in awe. In fear.

“Come,” he says, turning to look heavenward. “You are saved Dean Winchester”

There is a flash of light, bright as creation, and they soar higher.

Castiel opens his mouth and sings gloriana.

_DEAN WINCHESTER IS SAVED!_

There is the sound of thunder, a million celestial voices answering in triumph.

Then there is darkness.

**-**

Humans are of the earth, soft and warm like loamy soil. They give off the essence of life in a way all mortal things do, quickly hurtling towards their death with all the joy and misery that immortal beings like Castiel do not experience.

Still, it takes much to convince Dean Winchester to be alive. There is a body to recreate and Castiel must rely on instinct to reform it. There are faded memories of a vessel long ago, but that had not lasted very long.

Dean is silent where he rests in Castiel’s arms, a wisp of life here in the quiet dark of his grave. He resists each attempt to be drawn towards the decayed remains of his body and Castiel feels what must be the frustration his older siblings often spoke about.

“Come now,” he coaxes. “Surely you must have a desire to live? All humans do.”

Dean is defiant in his silence, soul pulsing bright as though he could be shouting.

“Do you not miss your brother?” Castiel asks. “The sun? You have all these things to return to.”

_Nothing_ his soul says. _I am nothing._

Castiel’s wings flutter at the cruelty in his voice. The cool, empty self evaluation. That a soul so bright could say such a thing is a shock. A contradiction he cannot fathom.

Then, there is a determination. 

“Let me show you,” Castiel murmurs, gathering Dean’s soul against him again. “For surely if you see such wonders as this universe, you will not say that you are nothing. Nothing cannot see the stars, the sun.”

One moment they sit in a coffin and the next they are in the middle of the Orion Nebula, nursery to the stars. 

“Look” Castiel murmurs as stars are born in front of them, glowing bright in the infinite darkness. “These stars are made from the very same that constitutes the Earth you were born to. Their life resides in your bones.” 

Dean is silent, soul pulsing softly as he thinks. For a split second he takes on a more humanoid form, then he shrinks back into a shape not unlike that of the stars in front of them. Imitation of a greater light. 

_Nothing_ , Dean repeats. _They are born of nothing. I am already nothing._

Castiel gathers him up and brings him to the depths of the ocean, blue and vast. 

“Not everything that is empty is made of nothing,” Castiel says. “Watch.”

Dean does, and out of the distance appears a school of fish, slick and silver as it moves through the water. Soon after, more animals appear to hunt them.

_Made to be consumed_ , Dean says. _Prey_.

“All life exists with a purpose. You were a hunter Dean Winchester. Your hand moved with righteous purpose.”

_It moved to kill. I am a knife, made to be wielded. There is no other purpose but pain._

Castiel takes him to the very edges of Creation, where the stars are older than him and the dark existed long before anything else.

“No being has a singular purpose,” Castiel says, letting Dean drift away from him in the dark. “Especially mortals. You get bored too easily.”

_It’s dark here_ , Dean says. _Different than Hell. An easy dark._

“This Dark was what came Before. It is older than me, and I am approximately three billion of your years old. Thirty-three Songs have passed since I came into existence in Heaven.”

_I like it here._

“You cannot stay here. Your soul is already fading from being too far away from your body.”

_I do not want to live._

“You must.”

_I do not want to be alone._

“You will not. Your brother waits for you.”

_I will hurt him._

“You will not. I will be there.” 

_To kill me?_

“You are chosen Dean Winchester. No longer shall you fear death.”

_I do not fear it._

“I am not here to kill you. I am here to save you.”

_Then save me._

Castiel reaches out and cups his hands around Dean Winchester’s soul and breathes.

**-**

It is difficult to understand humans. They lie and are brutally honest. They kill and go through extraordinary lengths to preserve life. They will stop in the middle of the road for a rabbit, then tear each other apart over nothing. It seems painful to be that conflicted.

It is excruciating to Castiel.

He must Obey.

He will protect the Winchesters.

He must Obey.

He will not.

He must Obey.

He will not hurt Dean.

He must Obey.

He is in Love. 

He must Obey.

He is falling.

It is the hunger that finally convinces him that he is well and truly on his way to losing his wings. He has never felt such a pain, such a want in the entirety of his long life. He hungers for food, for feeling, for touch, for love.

Blood on the ground makes him ache for the power he’d lost, the grace given to him by his Holy Father so long ago. He aches for it and the voices contained within like he imagines many humans ache for a lost limb.

It is not until he feels the squeeze of Dean’s hand on his shoulder, reassuring, that he becomes aware that the hunger in his chest is not the same as the gnawing pain in his belly. No, this is a different sort of want. It’s what drives him to protect. To move in front of Dean and, by extension, Sam when other angels show up. When demons bay for their blood.

It is what makes him brave when staring down the Morningstar, brightest of all angels. To look upon his face is to see the despair of a star caught in the grips of a black hole. Were there no vessel around him Castiel’s current body would be nothing but ash, mortal remains upon the ground. As it is now, the echo of heaven’s Song in Lucifer's voice is like nails upon his spine. It is corrupt and ancient, an eon of pain and terror nestled in his throat.

“What a peculiar thing you are,” he murmurs, tilting his head to study Castiel. 

The pure terror Castiel feels at being looked upon by Lucifer is only set aside by his determination. His unwillingness to give up the Winchesters. 

“Castiel right?”

He can only nod. All the Host know him by now. It would not surprise him if Lucifer does too.

“You smell like them you know?” Lucifer says, curling his lip. “The stink of human is all over you. They smell like bad meat. Left out in the sun too long. Father was cruel for that.”

“You are not taking Sam Winchester,” Castiel grits out, baring his teeth. It’s pathetically human, he hates that Lucifer can tell.

“Oh I will,” Lucifer says, smiling. “And when I do, big brother will take that one you like so much too.” 

Castiel starts forward, only kept in place by the holy fire. If it were possible he’d set himself on fire to cross it. 

“Ah, see, I know who Dean Winchester is. I know all the souls that our dear Father sends down to me. Troublesome that one, but so beautifully vicious. I have to say, you have rather good taste little brother.” 

Were Castiel still at his full power he would have called down lightning to destroy this place. He would have spread his wings to show the Morningstar just what it still meant to taunt a commander in heaven’s ranks. He was no archangel but he was no mere soldier either.

He settles for his coldest glare.

“I would die first,” he swears and Lucifer nods, accepting.

“I suppose you shall,” he says in his soft, dangerous voice. It slithers down Castiel’s spine, serpentine. “But not here. Not today. No, I want to make you watch. In this I am like our Father.”

Castiel tilts his head and Lucifer gives him a pitying look.

“I’m sure you’ve realized by now Castiel, he likes to kill his favorites.”

It’s a knife to the gut, a kind of pain that only comes from the horror of realizing something you already knew. 

“Goodbye Castiel, I look forward to seeing you again.”

Lucifer vanishes and Castiel is left alone.

He aches, hungry again. 

Love cannot satisfy it. 

**-**

All things must come to an end. This is what was written and so it shall be.

It happens more than once.

Over and over, Castiel must reckon with mortality. With God. With the fragility of human life. With the way Dean looks lying dead on the ground, blood spilled for some meaningless cause. The eternal fate of a Righteous Man. Over and over again Sam pleads and begs for a new start. For peace. Castiel cannot give it to him.

He has had enough. 

He is tired.

Does life really mean so little in this universe? Must he be formed and reformed over and over again until his face is not his face? Until he forgets that once upon a time, for longer than he has been human, he had no face? There was only light. There was light and then there was Castiel.

There was Dean.

Now he must reckon with that one last time. He must decide if he was born for this purpose, this duty.

_DEAN WINCHESTER IS SAVED._

He repeats it to himself as he walks to his third death. As he lets the Leviathan consume him. As he pushes him through the portal out of purgatory. As he expels the mark of Cain. As he watches his brothers and sisters fall from grace. Again Castiel, you must destroy the world. Again Castiel, you must make the sacrifice.

_I’m sure you’ve realized by now that God likes to kill his favorites._

“When did it start?” God asks him, looking out of the eyes of a mortal form, gentle and apathetic. 

“When did what start?” Castiel answers, though he knows what He’s asking.

“How long since you loved him more than me?”

“Since he asked me to save him,” Castiel says, tilting his chin up. “Since you abandoned us. Since the Christ child died for you. Since you cast Adam and Eve out of the garden. Since you allowed the Morningstar to become bereft. Since you stopped caring at all.”

“I have not been a very good Father have I?” God says softly and Castiel knows better than to give an honest answer. He has learned much in his time here on earth. Fathers never want the truth.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh but it does, Castiel. You see, I chose you for a reason to descend into perdition.”

“Michael chose me,” Castiel says immediately and God tsks. It’s a horrifying sound. 

“Haven’t you learned anything? There is no Michael without me. Darling eldest child, the first Song. Metatron may be my Voice but Michael was where I put my heart. I think it quite deranged him, all that love. Then I created _you_.”

Castiel’s wings flutter at the suggestion. 

“Not to worry Castiel. You are only older than a scant few. You were chosen for the simple reason that I was feeling merciful the day you were born. Michael is my love and Lucifer is my wrath and both are dreadful in their own way, but you Castiel? You are my mercy. Why do you think you always end up here, granting forgiveness?”

Castiel curls his lip and not for the first time he can understand Lucifer’s fury. His desire to wipe this place, their Father’s creation, from existence. 

“It isn’t out of love for you,” Castiel spits and he turns on his heel, refusing to look back.

It isn’t for anything divine at all. 

  
  


**-**

He thinks it might be the End for good this time, here in the dark. The Empty. There is nothing except the quiet. It’s peaceful. Excruciatingly so.

It reminds him of sitting at the edges of the universe all those years ago, observing that even in Nothing there was creation going on. There was death. There was Something.

Here there is only one thing and that is him.

He is not even sure of that.

What is he?

_Who_ is he?

Does he have a name? A name...what is a name? Why does it matter?

_Castiel_. 

He opens the space where his eyes once were.

_Castiel_.

What is a Castiel?

_Cas, c’mon man. You have to be there. You can’t do this to me. Not after what you said._

Is he Castiel? 

_Cas, please._

Yes, he remembers now.

_CAS!_

There is darkness all around him. Nothing.

_Castiel!_

Light flares and for a moment he remembers what it is to be born, to be made anew. Wings unfurl and his heart surges to life. He opens his mouth and Sings and there is a sound like thunder, like the beginning of all things. A voice booms out across the heavens.

_CASTIEL IS SAVED._

Deep in the heart of the Orion Nebula, a star forms. 

**-**

“I missed you.”

Castiel looks up to see Dean looking down at him from the other end of the bed. Sun spills in through the curtains and he looks young again. Dean Winchester without the pain of being alive.

He sits up and makes his way up the bed, settling between his thighs. Dean’s skin is warm against his shoulders, achingly familiar in the way that his soul always will be to Castiel.

Heaven is a good look on him.

“I…” Dean pauses, and he has the audacity to look embarrassed despite what they’ve been doing for the last few hours. The last few millennia. However long it’s been since Castiel opened his eyes to Dean Winchester long dead in heaven. 

“Dean,” he sighs, smiling as he turns to kiss the inside of his knee. “I have been in the very fabric of your skin, sewing you back together so you could rejoin the Earth. I have seen every piece of you. You do not have to tell me what I already know.”

“You God or something now?” Dean asks, tilting his head at him. “Knowing everything?”

“When it comes to you, yes.” 

The answer is simple, but he might as well have struck Dean across the face. Castiel lets him brood for a moment before leaning up to kiss him. There is no hesitation in this, Dean easily allows the touch.

“You deserve to hear it,” Dean says quietly when Castiel pulls back. “I want to say it.”

“Like I said,” Castiel murmurs, spreading his wings until they shield them from the bright light outside. “ It is not necessary. I know everything when it comes to you.”

In the dark beneath his wings there is nothing and then the bright white of Dean’s smile finds him and two hands come up to cup his face. Castiel leans down until Dean’s lips brush his ear, teasing.

There is no chorus singing this time, only simple words of devotion meant for Castiel and Castiel alone.

  
  



End file.
